I was just a kid when I was airdropped into Vietnam.
It’s funny, before that I never really paid much attention to how people looked at me. Now, I can’t escape it. The bitterness, the disregard. My leg hurts. They tell me parts of the bullet are still there, to this day. When it’s as cold as it is now, I can almost feel the shards.
It’s hard to hold my hands steady enough to keep the flame alight while it washes over the end of the cigarette dangling from my mouth. The tremors are bad enough on a normal day, let alone in this kind of cold. The street is covered in wet puddles, though it is not raining. They reflect the overcast sky above. (more…)